Wolf Ascending
by Twisted Midnight Dreams
Summary: Old legends tell of Faeries using their magic to save humans from mortal wounds. Such tales have faded, shrouded by the mist...no one quite knows what this 'saving' entails. Wolf!Brendan, ModeLocked!Aisling
1. formation

_**Wolf Ascending**_

_Old legends tell of Faeries that used their magic to save humans from mortal wounds. But such tales have faded, shrouded by the mist...and now, no one knows what this 'saving' entails._

_Poor Brendan. _

_Hahaha. This is the most I've written in one shot in as long as I can remember._

_Don't be afraid to point out my flaws!_

_I don't own The Secret of Kells or any of its characters; Cartoon Saloon does._

"Brendan!" Shouting, near his ear.

…_? _

…_Brother Aidan?_

"Brendan! No, d-don't fall asleep, please—" Begging. Screaming. He had never heard Aidan's voice filled with such terror before.

Something hot was pouring down his front. There was something on his neck…_in_ his neck.

"Brendan, please stay with me, I have to—oh, God, please, I have to take you back—"

…his mentor's voice was far away…

_I'm bleeding,_ Brendan realized dimly. He couldn't remember why.

_Everything…hurts…_

The feeling was fading fast.

The ground was cold.

If he went to sleep, maybe he'd be warmer…

_No, I can't…_

…_I have to…I…_

"Brendan! _Bren-!"_

**(formation)**

All Aidan could hear was his own ragged breathing, accompanied by the muffled thumps of his feet hitting the snow-covered ground.

Cursing his body, he glanced back towards where he had left Brendan lying. Though in better shape than most men of his age, he wasn't strong enough to carry a near-teen as far as they had managed to run.

He nearly fell through the trees, just barely spotting the cracked grey walls of the Abbey ahead. Smoke still billowed high. Panting, he slid to a halt just outside the shattered gate.

There was no sound.

He flinched when something brushed against his leg, then let out a sigh of relief. Pangur had followed him. She leapt onto his shoulder, rubbing against his cheek with an aura of gentle confidence and support. "Thank you, girl," he whispered.

He stepped into Kells and couldn't stop from cringing back.

Everything was destroyed. The walls had cracks from the top to the ground. The huts were all burnt to cinders. The roof of the Church and the scriptorium had burned away or possibly collapsed—he couldn't see where he stood.

Cautiously, he went in further. There was a chance—a low chance, but still a chance, that there was someone left. "Hello?" he called.

His footsteps seemed to echo. The walls looked almost terrifying, the remains of the scaffolding smoking, looking like the bones of a giant smote long ago.

Nothing was untouched. Nothing except… the tower.

He slowly tread through the broken village, carefully avoiding every pile of ashes that were in his path. Most were clearly huts, but some were…some were much too small.

"_Aidan?"_ He jolted, looking toward the tower. "Brother Tang?" He could barely believe it. "You're alive! How?"

"…I must ask you the same thing," a faint voice asked.

"_Cellach?"_ Aidan ran to the foot of the only remaining building, craning his neck to see Tang moving out of the Abbot's way.

The man looked awful. He was covered in soot and blood, and his eyes were bloodshot beyond belief.

"How-how are you here? The scriptorium—the fire-" Cellach broke off, looking dazed.

"Sit down!" Tang said, tugging on his sleeve uneasily.

Cellach ignored him, shaking himself back to reality. "The scriptorium was invaded, the roof caved in. How are you alive? Brendan—is Brendan alive-?"

"I don't – I don't know." Aidan took a shaking breath. "I need - I need supplies—he was attacked—the Vikings were in the forest, and they attacked and Brendan was bleeding but I c-couldn't get him back here—please, do you have any bandages left?" he begged.

Cellach looked sick.

"We don't have anything," Tang said feebly. "There was nothing to patch the Abbot's wounds either. We had nothing but old cloaks, and that was barely enough." Cellach let out a weak cry and slid down the edge of the doorframe.

Aidan felt the color drain from his face. "Oh…oh, no. No." He looked towards the forest, then back to Cellach. "Brendan…"

Cellach's voice was helpless. "Find him. Please, Aidan…at least…at least bring him home." His voice broke.

Aidan squared his shoulders and ran.

His legs and chest burned, he hadn't slept in nearly three days, he had eaten next to nothing that morning, and he was undergoing more stress than anything he had gone through in the past eight months, and still he refused to stop.

All else he could do was pray. _Please, Lord, let this child live._

He tore through the forest, ignoring the branches slapping at his face and clawing at his clothes.

_Let this one, wonderful, gifted child have his life. _

"Brendan!" He slowed only to make sure that he was following his own tracks back.

_He is the most amazing apprentice I have had. Please, take my life in return. Just…_

He saw the clearing ahead. He came to a dead stop, breathing hard. His heart thundered as he crept through the brush, glancing around desperately.

…_let Brendan be alive._

And then he saw the blood.

Obscenely spread around the snowy clearing, bloody hand prints showed that Brendan had awoken briefly and tried to move—_was he looking for me—why did I leave him alone?—_ and paw prints of many wolves littered the snow around where he had lain. Smears of red where they had stepped into the pooling blood led into the trees.

Following the gruesome trail, heart slowing to a near stop in icy fear, Aidan found red-stained scraps of Brendan's cloak in the bony claws of low-lying branches. They waved in the newly wailing wind like twisted wraiths.

…_No._

There was nothing past that, nothing but the gaping maws of the trees, the accusing glare of mistletoe berries surrounding him.

He was a fool.

He had left his most admirable—most loved student, bleeding badly, in the icy cold forest that he knew was filled with wolves.

"Brendan…" the strangled whisper fell from his lips.

There was something left on the ground in front of him, half buried under the falling snow.

A single broken goose feather, fallen from Brendan's pocket, tip still stained emerald green from the design he had drawn only a few hours before.

Hand shaking, Aidan bent to pick it up. His feet slipped and he fell to his knees, the wind blowing the feather into his face.

Aidan wept.

**-/-/-/-/-**

Brendan heard Aisling's voice without thinking much of it. He wasn't entirely conscious, and he'd become used to falling asleep in the forest during his many visits in the past summer and autumn.

"_Brendan? Are you awake?"_

"I'm getting up," he tried to say. What came out of his mouth was a strangled whine, and his tongue hit teeth that _hurt._

_What-?_

His eyes opened to Aisling's nearly luminescent wolf form, silhouetted by the stormy grey sky.

"Aisling, what's happened?" he tried to ask, but what came out was merely a harsh yelp.

He tried to stand, falling once he caught sight of his hands—or rather, paws. He howled in fear and disbelief, flailing uncontrollably.

"_Brendan! Stop it!" _Aisling's voice ordered. His mind didn't register the words, but his body stopped thrashing and dropped down.

"_Listen to me!"_ His ears pricked up of their own accord. _"Your body's really tired now. It needs time to rest or you won't be able to do anything. You nearly died, you know." _she stated matter-of-factly. _"That was pretty stupid. If you'd only waited a few more minutes my wolves would have eaten them before you got hurt."_

She lay down next to him, flicking him with her tail. "_Now __**calm down**__."_ she told him in mesmerizing tones.

He stared at her with wide blue eyes. He felt himself slowing. It was terrifying—but he wasn't afraid. He didn't feel nearly as stressed after Aisling's order of 'calm down'.

In his strangely relaxed state, he could mull things over more thoughtfully. Aisling could control the wolves of the forest—and he was likely a wolf as well. But why? He couldn't quite remember.

He thought back. He'd been leaving quickly. From Kells. Running. From…a fire? There was fire, but—no. Not just from the fire. The Vikings had finally struck. But someone else was with him…not his uncle. A discontented whine slid out through his teeth. His uncle had fallen with an arrow in his chest.

_Aidan._

He remembered Aidan running ahead, nearly slamming into a Viking standing in the trees.

He remembered it tearing the satchel containing the Book from his mentor's shoulder, and then…

…and then Brendan had leapt up, trying to snatch it back. And the Viking shoved a hidden blade from its sleeve deep into his neck.

He remembered sliding bonelessly to the ground as it took the cover, letting the raggedly torn pages fall around and onto his body.

He remembered wolves snarling and leaping from the brush amidst the Vikings' thunderous roars of pain and shock.

He remembered hearing Aidan begging him to stay awake, tying his white cloak around Brendan's neck in a fruitless effort to stop the blood.

He remembered tears running down his cheeks, his mentor whispering something inaudible and running. Not away, _towards_ the flickering flames of Kells.

Aisling's tired green eyes angled towards him. _"Brendan, you're shaking."_ She concernedly lifted her head.

He looked down at his paws and saw that they were. Though calmer than he would normally be, his experiences of the past day had hit him rather hard.

"…_Alright, then,"_ Aisling sighed. _"You're too nervous to sleep."_ She stood up. _"Come on; we can walk a little to make you tired."_

He stood beside her…and fell. He tried again…and fell again.

Aisling's amused giggle rang loudly in his head. _"You look funny!" _She demonstrated it herself._ "Here, like this."_

Slowly, he did what she had. He put his front legs out in front of him, letting them push him up like arms. Carefully, he slid his back legs under himself and was soon standing completely, albeit shakily.

"_See?"_ She started off at a slow pace — slow for a wolf, that is. Her ears and tail were drooping, but she was still several times faster than Brendan.

He wasn't particularly concerned with that, though. He let out another distressed growl, trying to communicate.

The faerie turned back towards him. _"Huh? What's wrong?"_

The sunset-colored wolf folded his ears back, whining desperately. _How are you doing that?_

"_Are you sick-oh, right. I forgot, you're a human."_ Her snout wrinkled in slight annoyance. _"You don't know how…you need to send your thoughts to me."_

Brendan tilted his head at her. _Like this?_

She just kept staring at him. _Okay, not like this then._

He thought hard. He wanted to ask about Aidan, so he thought of his mentor—how he looked, what he did, how he acted when he was tired or happy, who he was—and stared into her eyes. _Is he alright — did he get hurt — did he get back — what happened to Kells — did he come back-?_

"_Oh? Your…Brother Aidan, then?"_ she asked, sounding puzzled.

He nodded, relieved that at least something had gotten through. _"He came back a little while ago, but I had already taken you over here."_ She indicated the circle of bushes they were in with her muzzle.

His rush of relief was matched by a rush of worry. Did Aidan know where—what he was? He staggered back towards Aisling intending to ask, only to find her lying down again._ This is no time to sleep!_ he thought even as he stumbled, his legs giving out completely.

"_It took a lot of my magic to save you, you know."_ She punctuated her statement with a long yawn. Unwittingly, he did the same. He looked at the darkening sky and heavily falling snow nervously.

"_And your body was strained by the change, too. Don't worry, Brendan."_ Aisling's cool green eyes seemed to smile._ "It's safe here."_ She looked directly into his eyes. _"I promise. Now, please, Brendan… __**sleep**__."_


	2. realization

_**Wolf Ascending**_

_Forgive me…this is short, took a stupidly long time to write, and I feel like I wrote some of it badly. _

_(The 'Brendan has a phobia of spiders' idea goes to GorimJr.)_

_Secret of Kells © Cartoon Saloon_

**(realization)**

The snow turned to freezing rain just after sunset.

The survivors were huddled in the center of the tower. Sleep refused to come; the reek of smoke and charred…_things_ lingered, and the sound of the remaining scaffolding cracking and falling boomed across the village at unpredictable intervals. Mourning softly, their whispers and cries floated through the air as the nightmarish day began to fully register.

In the uppermost room of the tower, Cellach wasn't sure how he was still standing. His wounds were still throbbing, and they bled even with the thin bandages covering them. Every breath he took seemed more painful than the last, but he refused to lie down. He couldn't.

Leaning against the window frame, clinging to the shutters to keep from falling, he kept his eyes fixed on where the gate had once stood. Aidan had left several hours before. With every passing second, fear wormed its way further into the Abbot's heart.

_Please be alive. Please, God, let my nephew be alive. _The hand that wasn't holding Brendan's drawing clutched at the front of his robes. _Even if these wounds must take me to do it. _

_Please._

Cellach flinched as light flashed in the sky. A deafening roar of thunder shook the village. The rain pelted the stone harder. The piles of ashes seemed to melt into themselves. The filthy liquid spread across all he could see, lapping at the base of the wall and tower. The scent that resulted permeated the tower and churned his stomach.

Where was Aidan?

There were so many things that could have gone wrong. The Vikings may not have left; they could have stayed in the trees, watching Brendan die and Aidan try to help for their own sick amusement.

The snow had been falling rather hard; if he couldn't have followed his own tracks, he could have been wandering in circles, unable to find his way to Brendan or back to Kells.

Thunder roared. The Abbot felt the very foundations of the tower tremble beneath his feet.

Brendan was alone out there in the melting snow and driving rain.His mind supplied him with horrible images of his bruised and bleeding nephew struggling to stand as water rose around him, suffocating—

Or maybe Aidan simply wasn't coming back.

Cellach paled, considering. Maybe he returned to Brendan and simply kept going, to finish his precious Book somewhere else, leaving Brendan's dead (or even not quite dead) body to rot in the mud.

A heavy chill settled in his chest. Aidan had enough time to run there and back for supplies, and yet…

The wind blew needle sharp raindrops through the window, slapping every inch of exposed skin. He stumbled back, nearly falling, gasping as a fresh stab of pain radiated from his wounds.

His back struck the wall. He cringed as he slid down, hissing in agony as he hit the floor. Shivering, helpless, he gazed at the stairs; they were only a few strides away, but it could have been miles for the pain that wracked his body.

_I can't do anything, _the haggard Abbot thought hopelessly. Even without suffering from his various afflictions, he had no way to know where Brendan was, no way to know what was safe and what was unsafe (he had once, but it had been so long since he did anything beyond of the wall…he wasn't certain of anything from the outside, anymore…), no way to even navigate through the trees.

_You aren't coming back, are you? _Whether he was thinking of Brendan or Aidan, he didn't truly know.

He prayed that he was wrong, but the doubts refused to stop. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking.

Several minutes of terrified speculation later, gentle footsteps sounded on the stairs below. Brother Tang rose into view, a basket clutched in his arms. "There are few left, but I think—_"_ He abruptly caught sight of the man huddled on the floor, a stain spreading around him the same shade as his robes. _"Abbot!"_

Cellach's eyes briefly flickered to the smaller man before glancing down again.

Tang rushed over and gently tugged on the taller man's hand. "Come now. You need to rest… get your strength back up." He shot a worried look at his chest. "You've loosened your bandages." Tang began to pull sheets and robes from the basket, torn into strips that would wrap around the Abbot's torso. "We had to dig through the ashes to get these, but we've cleaned them. They won't be as temporary as the last."

At Tang's prompting, he slid his robes down to around his waist, letting the loose bandages fall away.

The old monk was the only person he came close to trusting; he cooperated the most, complained the least, and every action he took since the attack had been logical. _("You are the Abbot of Kells. You _must_ get up.")_

Cellach flinched as the last of the bandages, stuck to his chest from the blood, were pulled away. Tang handed him a damp cloth. He wiped the blood away, though the stain would keep. "Almost done," Tang muttered.

The brother was old, but far from senile—and was likely the only person left that Cellach could voice his doubts to.

"Is Aidan…?" Deep breath. "Aidan isn't coming back, is he?" The small piece of pride that hadn't drowned by horror and grief hated how _weak_ he was being. His voice held the quality of a child's, desperately seeking reassurance from a parent. _(there are no spiders under the bed, Brendan)_

Tang blinked. After a long pause he asked, "Why wouldn't he?"

Cellach couldn't look at him. "It—I—why would he? There is nothing for him here."

Another pause, not quite as long. "And leave Brendan?" He busily wrapped the new bandages around his Abbot's torso, warily avoiding eye contact.

"He might—he wouldn't…" his thoughts were scattered and disjointed. "Not if he was alive. But he…if he isn't…then why would he come back?"

"Abbot—"

"He has no reason to. This—this place is in ruins—"

Tang interrupted. "He would not leave Brendan in the forest."

"…he still has no reason to return here." _He could simply bury—_ he cut the thought off.

Tang gave him a look of disbelief. "Brother Aidan would not leave us to fret over his fate. He is not cruel."

'_Us'?_ he thought despairingly."I ignored him, Tang." His voice was desperate. "I locked him away." (_you'll be safe in here with your precious Book)_ "I nearly caused his death. I-I've ruined his life's work." Had he? Cellach shut his eyes tightly. He didn't know, but it was probable. Likely, even, with all that had been happening due to his touch.

"He wouldn't do that to you, Abbot. He is not vengeful," Tang gently chided. He finished wrapping the bandages and gestured to the bed.

Cellach fixed his robes and shakily managed to stand. "I can't. I need…I must keep a lookout."

Tang frowned slightly but did not otherwise object, which Cellach was pathetically grateful for.

He stumbled to the window, bracing against it, ignoring the shaking in his arms.

He noticed vaguely that Brother Tang still stood there, quietly observing.

…_no use telling him to leave._

He focused intently on the shattered remnants of the gate, barely visible through the haze of rain.

The haze seemed to thicken as the minutes trickled by. His arms were stiff and heavy. Everything seemed to waver slightly.

_Perhaps I _should_ rest,_ he admitted in the back of his mind.

That was all. Because he couldn't. He had to wait. For Aidan.

For Brendan. _(It's about time we've saw you today—)_

_The rain hasn't stopped, but he's outside. But there is fire everywhere, dancing along the walls and the tower. _

_He runs to the tower, but the stairs are scattered._

_The fire is odd, a shade of blue like nothing he had never seen. He hears the people screaming inside, their fists hammer at the door, but it's locked._

_The key is cold in his hand, but he refuses to let go even as it cuts into his hand like a knife_

_He claws at the stone, tries to climb—the fire is at the top, where he stands is completely untouched. It gets taller as he watches, the door is far beyond even his reach— yet he can hear the screaming louder_

_Shadows spike out from the walls, weaving, rotting all it touches_

_Far away, a voice whispers "Uncle?"_

_Deep inside the black, Brendan perches on cracking scaffolding, apparently unaware of what's happening. _

_Cellach tries to scream but his voice is gone_

_Brendan's eyes are glazed and crusty. He's shivering and pale, _sick he's sick

_and the back curls around _

it's smothering him

_all of the voices are falling silent, one by one—the fire is crawling down, getting closer_

"_Uncle, where—?" and then screaming _

_silence._

no

_nothing left_

I'll save you

_but he was falling_

I will catch you

_but he didn't. he couldn't. _

_Brendan's body shatters like glass_

_the pieces are far beyond his reach and when he strains his arm out red rushing blood spreads _

_envelops_

Curled up on the floor beneath the window, the blankets from his bed covered him, staving off some of the cold. He didn't remember pulling the blankets over himself.

_Tang, most likely._ He struggled to sit up.

The old monk was gone. _Unsurprising; he probably went to encourage the survivors. _

The sky was still dark, though the rain was gone; replaced with complete and utter silence.

Falling back with a quiet _thump_, he realized that he was too exhausted to stand. Too drained to feel. He doubted anything could prompt him to move. _(and of what use is a weak Abbot? I will build I will protect you)_

And then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Brother Tang's voice was hushed and worried. "He's sleeping now, though not for long." And—

"Brother, how—how can I…I can't. I can't." _Aidan!_ Cellach jolted.

"You must!" Tang's voice insisted quietly.

Their footsteps stopped. Cellach shifted himself closer to the stairs.

"I…" a step creaked as Aidan's weight shifted. "I don't know. I'm sorry." His voice lowered. Cellach strained to hear. "Is—is he any better?"

"…Physically, his wounds are survivable, but it will take a long time for them to heal completely," Tang replied heavily. "Emotionally…I have never seen him in such a state. I fear he may get worse with the news you bear."

Cellach's breath hitched. _So Brendan…Brendan is…_

"Then—why do you want me to tell him now?" Aidan's voice trembled. "Why-why not wait until he is stronger?"

"He will not take it any better if we wait," Tang replied with an air of pointing out an obvious fact.

A shaky sigh. "I…I know. I _know_. But how do I…" his voice seemed to fail.

"We can wait here for a while. He's likely still asleep." A creak of Tang sitting. A second creak sounded a hesitant few moments later.

Aidan's next words were wild, terrified, and struck Cellach like a hammer. "Tang, what I saw…I…how do I say that? 'Your child perished and the wolves left nothing of his body behind'?"


End file.
